


Too Long You've Wandered in Winter

by PontiusHermes



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ballet, Broken Bones, Crying, Dedication to Art, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ice, Injury, Kindness, Memories, Music, Sweet, Tears, Winter, respect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PontiusHermes/pseuds/PontiusHermes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mme. Giry falls and hurts her ankle, and Reyer is gentle and kind.<br/>*I am using Mme. Giry from the musical and not the book*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Long You've Wandered in Winter

Mme. Giry's right ankle did not pain her often, at least not anymore. It was a little stiffer than her left, and ached sometimes in cold weather, but she almost did not need her cane anymore. Only, she had grown accustomed to it. Probably the most painful thing about her old injury was the memory of the physician telling her that it was broken, it would never again be strong enough for pointe work, she would probably not be able to point her foot quite so well again. Her dancing career, her ambition, gone. But even that had seldom pained her those days. Her work was respectable, and of course she had not had to give up ballet entirely. She did not dance, but teaching, guiding, instructing, those were near as good.

It was early winter. The autumn rains were frozen between the cobblestones in the courtyard -- the ground glistened. It was there, in the courtyard, that she slipped on the ice and fell, her right ankle twisting, again, beneath her. She felt the bones, those bones in her ankle that never healed perfectly, crack again. Mme. Giry sobbed, only twice, and without tears. The courtyard was empty, but for her. No-one to see, but no-one to help. Using her cane, she pulled herself upright, taking care to put no weight on her right foot. Once standing, she tested it, leaning on it gently, and gasped. Surely it had not hurt so much last time, but she supposed the memory had faded with time. She could hear her breathing, unusually loud, could feel the blood beat in her ears. It hurt. The cold wind pooled tears in her eyes.

Slowly, delicately, she limped across the courtyard, supported only on her left leg and thin cane, terrified her unstable gait would cause her to slip again. Eventually she reached the back doorway of the theatre and she would have loved, then, to sit down, to cry. But she was a dancer, or she had been a dancer. Her self-discipline had not decreased with her suppleness and flexibility. White-faced and supported by her cane, she hobbled painfully down the blessedly dry and non-slippery corridor. Unusually, perhaps fortunately, no-one passed her in the hallway.

She was exhausted and light-headed by the time she saw anyone. It was M. Reyer, conductor and overseer of the theatre orchestra, emerging from his office. Reyer was a kind and gentle man, if you were not interrupting his rehearsal or being an unnecessary trial. Moreover, he showed propriety, which is more than could be said for most men in the opera house, managers included. He looked up at the sound of her uneven footsteps. His eyes swept over her pale face, her lips pressed together, the way she leaned on her cane, suddenly so dependant, the way she put not the slightest pressure on her right foot.

"Madame Giry," he exclaimed, concerned, "are you quite well?"

She halted, supporting herself with one hand on his doorframe, and swallowed, breathing rather rapidly. She swayed slightly.

"Mostly well, Monsieur Reyer," she replied, a little stiffly, unwilling to concern him. Reyer frowned, concerned and unsure as to whether he should press her. She obviously wasn't well, but she didn't appear to want to reveal what the problem was, not to him at any rate. She noted his worry with a rush of affection and sighed.

"It is only," she began softly, "I was crossing the courtyard, and it was icy and I fell and…" She suddenly wanted to cry. She took a deep breath and bit her lip. "Forgive me. I hurt my ankle. That is all."

"Is it bad?" he asked, eyes alive with worry. "It looks as if it hurts terribly." She closed her eyes and gripped the doorframe more tightly, lightheaded.

"Madame Giry?" She felt him grip her upper arm gently, steading her. She forced herself to open her eyes, but saw only white, the white haze that in some people accompanies a feeling of faintness. Tears overflowed down her cheeks as she panicked, blind and in pain. She felt Reyer tighten his hold on her, comfortingly.

Eventually the white fell away and she could see him observing her, face worried. When he saw her eyes focus on his face, he told her gently to come in. He gave her his arm and helped her into a chair in his office.

"I shall get a physician. I'll return soon." She could hear his footsteps hurrying down the corridor.

Mme. Giry gripped the chair. Each heartbeat sent a shock of pain through her ankle. She waited, tears drying on her cheeks, refusing to shed any more. She made each breath deliberate, a choice, slowing her breathing the way she used to, before an entrance. Everything seemed to slow, each breath rushing in and out, steadily, like the tide.

Eventually Reyer returned with the physician, an middle-aged, rather rotund man who Mme. Giry had never seen before and whose face she would later be unable to recall. It seemed Reyer had relayed something of what she had told him, for the physician immediately asked which ankle it was. She told him, and he set to examining it, flexing and straightening it painfully. Mme. Giry clenched her hands tighter around the chair and closed her eyes, assaulted by wave after wave of pain. The physician eventually pronounced it broken, and set to splinting it.

His hands were not remarkably dexterous, and his struggles to position everything correctly caused him to press upon and bump her ankle repeatedly. She bit back gasps each time he did this, but Reyer quickly realised the cause of her discomfort.

"You're hurting her!" he exclaimed with the agitation he was prone to showing. The physician did not appear to hear, but eventually completed the immobilisation. Both Reyer and Mme. Giry were rather glad to see him leave, even though, for all the pain it caused, the splint was not badly done. Mme. Giry retrieved her cane and stood shakily.

"I am sorry, Monsieur. I am afraid that I have inconvenienced you."

"Not at all, Madame," he said gravely, "I am glad if I have been of assistance."

His gentlemanly manner reminded her why she respected him so much, and a sudden rush of gratitude made her smile slightly.

"I thank you, Monsieur. I shall not keep you any longer."

"Good evening, Madame," he said, and opened the door for her. Mme. Giry limped slowly into the corridor and, despite the pain, she smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> Pontius


End file.
